SOUS LA PLUIE...

There I was pre-Paris, concocting a lovely post involving the distinction between how I walk in London; I plod, I trudge, I march at quite a pace, sidestepping dawdlers. And how I walk in Paris; I meander, I stroll, I amble. I was all set to tell you the word 'flaneur' is one of my favourites and how it sums up perfectly my experience of being in Paris.

It was all coming together nicely. Unfortunately I hadn't anticipated 'THE RAIN'.

It's not so easy to stroll in the kind of torrential downpour that an umbrella provides little or no protection against. The kind that makes you want to stay in bed or drink copious amounts of alcohol, preferably at the same time. I have never seen it rain like that in Paris and God knows how many times I've been there. When the rain continues solidly for 3 days the only thing to do is sprint bedraggled, to yet another cafe, which you will begin to refer to as 'smoke filled hell holes' (thank you Geoff Dyer). Shopping - the obvious indoor activity is out, due to the necessity of walking from shop to shop. Department stores are out due to my hatred of Galeries Lafayette and Printemps, and roadblocks around Le Bon Marche because of the demonstrations. Museums, galleries and other tourist spots are out because all the damp kagoule clad tourists are there.

In case I haven't already made this clear - I love Paris. On a sunny day I can think of nowhere else in the world I'd rather be. The dry parts of my trip were wonderful, and I'll mention those when I've finished moaning about the weather. I will regale you with tales of my speedy tour of Paris with friend, the Marc Jacobs store, the snooty anorexic French women in the Vanessa Bruno store who stared at my flabby knees when I tried on a skirt and how the gorgeous, sexy, super hot waiter at Le Verre Luisant made me go all doolally.

I am British, I know shitty weather. I spend summers looking at the grey skies waiting for the one nice day when we will all complain that it's too hot. The funny thing is, for all my moping in cafes surrounded by furiously chain smoking Serge Gainsbourg wannabes, when I got back today I kind of felt nostalgic for Paris already.

When I went to pay for my petrol I very nearly looked the attendant directly in the eye and said 'Bonjour!' cheerily. But then quickly recovering myself I engaged with him in the English manner, by keeping my eyes averted and saying nothing.

Guess what, it's raining here too, but this is no surprise. I'm so happy to see my little Loly who greeted me with her 'I really missed you' miaow which sounds uncannily like 'Maaammmaaa!' She slept on my pillow while I was gone and she has been following me around all day, nuzzling my legs and generally being cute so that I will never ever leave her again.